


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by cmonlauraweremarriednow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-03-06 05:46:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13404720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmonlauraweremarriednow/pseuds/cmonlauraweremarriednow
Summary: William's first Christmas





	I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Set mid-season 9, shortly before _Trust No 1_

_December 2001_

The strands of colored lights draped across the Douglas fir bathes the living room in a prismatic glow, twinkling off the tinsel, awash in the warmth from the logs crackling in the fireplace. Or it would be if their apartment had a fireplace. But alas, it did not, so the Mulder-demanded yule log on the television – for the ambiance, Scully – would have to suffice. The air is thick with the sweet scent of baking and pine; Bing Crosby croons softly from the record player in the corner.

_I’ll be home for Christmas, you can count on me._

The lack of an actual fire doesn’t temper the warmth expanding into Mulder’s chest as he gazes with overwhelming happiness at the room before him: stockings on the mantel, reindeer rocking horse in the corner, his perfect other in the kitchen, and their son in front of the Christmas tree, surrounded by festively wrapped boxes bound with shiny ribbons. William lays happy and babbling on the crimson tree skirt, reaching a chubby hand towards a shiny ornament ball on the lowest branch, his face reflecting the unbridled look of wonder one only finds in children.

Mulder’s chest clenches with the nostalgic ghost of Christmas past. Christmas had always been Samantha’s favorite holiday. She was enraptured by the lights and decorations and insisted on driving around for hours to look at them, her face pressed to the cold window, that very same look of awe alit by the passing glow.

“William!” Scully worries from her spot behind the kitchen counter, wrist deep in sugar cookie dough, Mulder’s long sleeved tee pushed to her elbows over a pair of leggings. “Don’t pull on those! Mulder, can you get him?”

Mulder chuckles and sidles up behind her, sliding his arm around her waist. “Don’t worry, Scully,” he presses a kiss to her cheek and darts his tongue out to lap a streak of flour off her jaw. “They’re the shatter-proof kind.”

He swipes a finger into the mixing bowl; Scully slaps at his hand as a warning.

“Stop that!”

“I only want a tiny taste,” Mulder wheedles, licking the glob of dough from his finger. He tilts her chin and lowers his mouth to hers, “Mmm, sweet.”

She pulls back, smiling, and licks her lips. “Indeed. Now go get your son. He’s trying to eat one of your balls.”

“I believe my balls are for your consumption only.”

He brushes his hand along the curve of her hip and gives her ass as firm squeeze, earning himself a swat to the upper arm.

“Go!” Scully demands, laughing as Mulder sneaks in to steal another kiss, under the pretense of the mistletoe that just happens to be hanging above her head.

Mulder crosses the room and scoops up his son into his arms. “Hey buddy, c’mere. What are you doing? Are you trying to land yourself on the naughty list already? It’s only your first Christmas, little man.” He flips the antlered hood of the fluffy reindeer onesie up onto William’s head, grinning down at him.

All the conspiracies he had chased down over the years, all the false leads he had followed, all the risks he had taken, all the things he had lost, had been worth it if it had brought him here, to this moment, to this apartment, to this family, to this love he had been certain would never exist for him. He doesn’t know what he’s done in any of his lives to deserve this; all he knows is that he has finally found the truth he had been searching for all that time, the truest truth holding them together.

He jostles William to his hip and brings him over to the window, pointing to the lamp-lit street below. “Look, William, snow. It’s snowing! Snow!”

William stretches his hand towards the glass. “…no,”

“Scully, did you hear that?!” Mulder says excitedly. “William just said ‘snow’! Granted, I would have preferred his first word to be ‘Bigfoot’ or ‘alien’, but it’s alright, we can work up to that.”

Scully laughs, wiping her hands on a towel, and joins them at the window. “Mulder,” she corrects gently. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Most babies don’t start forming real words until around the first year mark, so we still have another five months or so to go.”

“Nuh uh, I heard him Scully! He said it! Our son is a genius, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, well in that case, I guess he must take after me,” she ribs.

She kisses the look of indignation off his face with a laugh before wrapping her arms around him, her head nestled into his shoulder, and dropping a kiss on William’s head too. They turn back to the window to watch the falling snow swirling, swirling, swirling in the wind, drawn into a wonderland dance by the unseen forces pulling in different directions.

Mulder had never been a huge fan of snow – a few near-death arctic experiences will do that to a person – but looking out over the cityscape, quiet and peaceful, blanketed with a fresh layer, not yet disturbed by humanity, he couldn’t help but be taken by the beauty of it all. It was a fresh start, a new beginning, a life free of running and chasing and searching. Where his life had once been defined by his singular quest to find his sister, it was now replaced with a journey of a different kind. One not of pain and longing, but of love and belonging.

_Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams._

“You’re thinking about them again, aren’t you?”

“What?” Mulder turns and the living room dissolves back to the New Mexican desert caravan, his arms achingly empty, the watchful gaze of Gibson Praise upon him. “Stop reading my mind, you know I hate that shit.”

Gibson smiles with an empathetic scoff. “I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking. Your face says enough. It’s only temporary, you know. For their own good, and yours. Maybe next year you’ll be back with them.”

“Yeah,” Mulder turns back to face the dry desert that keeps them painfully, desperately apart, looking out into the expanse numbly, not a flake of snow in sight. “Next year, Scully,” his voice barely audible. “I promise I’m coming home to you and our son.”

_I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me the happiest clam in all the sea  
> You can also follow me on Tumblr [@realmofextremepossibility!](http://realmofextremepossibility.tumblr.com)


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